Chapter 3

When back home, the first thing she did was spread out the Vossberg files across her desk.

The target’s name was underlined in red: **Silas Price**.

Silas Price held a ledger the Shaw family had been hunting for three years — the full record of his alliances, his foreign accounts, the names of every made man on his payroll. They had never gotten close.

Now the head of the German Vossberg Cartel.

Her mission was simple in theory: get close. Extract intelligence. Don’t get killed.

In practice? No one had ever come back from an operation against him.

In her last life, Mia had been exposed within three months and tortured to death. They hadn't gotten the intel. They had exposed their own positions instead. The war had reignited from there, and the casualties had been catastrophic — until, in the end, Ethan had died under enemy fire shielding her.

She sat at her desk and thought it through, hour after hour, without sleeping.

At dawn, she changed into a simple black dress and headed for the door.

The second she pulled the door open, the cold metal pressed against her forehead.

A gun.

“Why can’t you just leave your sister alone?” Ethan’s voice was raw, nearly shaking.

For half a second she froze. She reached up to knock the gun away — and Ethan twisted her arm, locking it across her chest. The strength behind it forced a hiss through her teeth.

"Ethan — let go!"

She kicked back hard. He pressed her tighter.

"You think I don’t know what you did? You went to your father and made sure Mia got the dangerous mission so you could keep me for yourself?"

"You’re so selfish and cold—how can you expect anyone to love you?"

She went still.

Those words. She had heard them before. In a marriage that lasted eight years too long. In fights that left her bleeding on the inside.

She came back to herself, drove her heel into his stomach, snatched up the pistol he dropped, and turned the muzzle on his forehead.

“You want to shoot me, Ethan? On Shaw property?”

The pain knocked the heat out of him. His eyes dropped to her trembling hand, still red where he'd twisted her wrist, and the anger in his face folded into regret. His voice came out softer than he meant.

"I'm sorry…"

"I lost my head."

She didn't answer. She threw the gun at his feet.

"It's an assignment. Someone has to go. You don't need to take it out on me. Maybe things will turn out exactly the way you want. Go home — focus on your wedding. You’ll be happy with the outcome.”

He didn't catch the bitterness in her voice. He bent down and picked up the pistol, gave a small, self-mocking smile.

"You think everyone's as cold-blooded as you, calm enough to plan a wedding at a time like this…"

She drew a long breath and walked away, face carefully blank, her molars ached from clenching her jaw.

*Ethan Chase. This life, I'll give you everything you want.*